


rose-coloured boy

by localswordlesbian



Series: sweet tooth for you [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Gay Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Gay Male Character, HOT MARTIN RIGHTS, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, eboy martin, fluff to distract me from tma ending in nine weeks, i choose to believe this is cannon, jonny sims do not interact, martin dyes his hair pink, this is mainly a martin fic, what if everyone was happy, with some jonmartin sprinkled in as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswordlesbian/pseuds/localswordlesbian
Summary: The Lonely left it's mark on Martin, with his formerly dark brown hair going a stark white the moment the fog touched him. Whenever he sees his reflection in the mirror, he sees the man who became the victim of a fear that nearly swallowed him whole. So he decides that a bottle of pink hair dye is the way to go.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: sweet tooth for you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120133
Comments: 17
Kudos: 220





	rose-coloured boy

Martin was beginning to wonder whether he’d fucked up.

He watched as the water vanished down the drain before his eyes, tinged ever so slightly pink as it ran freely from his head and into the sink. Hunched over the cold ceramic, Martin listened to the music he’d set to play from the speakers to occupy his mind while he waited for the water to run clear, a process which was taking an almost infuriatingly long time. Despite the music, his mind was spinning – he couldn’t remember what, exactly, had spurred him to dye his hair. His walk to the convenience store down the road had almost disappeared from his memory, as though he’d done it in a daze, and he hadn’t hesitated before pulling the plastic gloves onto his hands and squeezing the light pink goop from the bottle onto his head.

Half an hour of sitting on the cold bathroom floor, paired with being hunched over the sink which was too short for someone of Martin’s height, was beginning to cause his muscles to tighten and his bones to ache. Eventually, the water spilling over his head finally ran clear and Martin straightened, his spine popping as his unruly curls flung water all over the bathroom. Sighing as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off his hair, Martin stretched. He kept his eyes away from the mirror – he knew this had been his decision, but a deep-seated fear squirmed through his gut at the thought of seeing his own reflection; what if he hated it? What if he regretted it immediately and had no way of getting the dye out?

He shook his head. Spiralling into a panic over nothing wasn’t going to help, he tried to tell himself. Towel still wrapped around his hair, he left the bathroom and stepped onto the cold tile of his kitchen.

Tea would calm him down, he reasoned. Tea usually calmed him down. Martin got the kettle, two teabags, and two mugs, and got to work – it was a calming process, and that combined with the music still spilling from the living room was enough to distract him from his panic about his hair.

As he was seeping the tea in the boiling water, he heard the distinct sound of the front door unlocking and someone coming inside. A smile pulled at Martin’s cheeks as he saw a familiar figure enter the kitchen.

“Welcome back,”

Jon smiled at him, his tired expression lifted as his eyes met Martin’s. “Thank you. Perfect timing,” he noted, gesturing to the tea.

Martin laughed, and the sound seemed to make Jon smile wider. “Yeah, it is.”

The two stood in amicable silence while Martin finished making and pouring the tea, handing Jon his mug. His scarred hand wrapped around Martin’s as he accepted the tea, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. They stood in the kitchen as they sipped their drinks, music continuing to pour in a continuous stream of company as they enjoyed each others’.

“Is that a new fashion accessory or something?”

Martin looked up suddenly. “What?”

Jon gestured to his head. “The towel. I wouldn’t normally point it out, but you never wear a towel on your head when you shower, so…”

Martin smiled softly – the fact that Jon  _ knew _ that about him was still a little pleasant surprise sometimes. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Well..” Jon tilted his head sideways, waiting for Martin to continue. Sighing, Martin grabbed the towel with one hand and yanked it off his head. “It was sort of an… impulsive decision,” he explained.

Jon seemed to study him for a moment before setting his mug down and walking over to stand in front of Martin. Reaching up, he hesitated before making content, and at Martin’s nod he took a strand between his fingers. Martin could see that the colour was very pale, an almost pastel pink, just dark enough to be noticeable but not so much so that it would call attention. Jon gave a soft smile. “I think it looks lovely,” he murmured. “Why the sudden impulse, though?”

Martin finally let himself consider that question, the question he hadn’t let himself think about since he made the decision to venture out to the store to buy the dye in the first place. He thought about all he and Jon had been through the past few years, the horrendous traumas they’d both faced – the degradation of both of their psyches at the hands of their power hungry immortal boss. Jon’s scars were a constant reminder of the avatars who had wanted them dead simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and after the Lonely–

“I suppose I didn’t want to be reminded of it anymore.” Jon tipped his head sideways, urging Martin to continue. “Every time I looked in the mirror, I could see it – the fog, the blurry horizon hardly even there, the vague silhouettes of people who were just as alone as I was. And it’s not like I could justify it with “going grey young;” it was  _ white _ , Jon. There was no– no compartmentalizing it anymore. And I just couldn’t bear it.”

A beat passed, then Jon reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb across Martin’s cheek – Martin hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He wordlessly took Martin’s hands and led him over to the couch – Martin sank gratefully into the cushions, suddenly exhausted. He felt weary down to his bones, as though a film of grey had settled over his vision and made his brain all fuzzy and spaced out. Jon said nothing, simply held Martin’s hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckles in a soothing back and forth motion.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait until I– until I forget,” he confessed in a broken whisper.

Jon let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Love, I don’t think either of us will ever forget what we went through.” He squeezed Martin’s hands. “Though, that’s not to say we’ll never move past it.”

Martin nodded. “I feel like I’m giving in.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know, the fear? Peter Lukas and the Lonely? Heroes are always supposed to rock their scars, hell even you live with constant reminders of what you went through painted on your body, but I can’t even look at myself without feeling… cold. Cold and lonely and abandoned.”

Jon lifted one of Martin’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Martin shook his head. “Jon. It’s not your fault. None of it was, or is.”

Jon nodded. “I know, I–” he broke off, squeezing Martin’s hands again. “I can’t promise that it will get better. The nightmares, the memories, the… the habits. But I can promise I’ll never abandon you ever again. I never want you to feel like you’re alone, not as long as I’m with you.”

“You didn’t abandon me the first time. I chose to work for Lukas, I chose to sacrifice myself. That wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you!”

Jon laughed. “I suppose you’re right. My point is, I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what. No matter the colour of your hair,” he added fondly, lifting one hand to thread it through Martin’s curls. Martin leaned into the touch, taking comfort in the simplicity of this moment – sat on the couch, with tea that had gone cold, two broken people desperately trying to figure out how to simply  _ be _ in a world that had taken so much from them.

Jon leaned closer, tilting his head in a silent invitation, one which Martin accepted by pressing their lips together – it was a soft kiss, a gentle one, a reminder that not all was lost, that despite it all they still had each other. Jon’s hand threaded through Martin’s hair, and Martin savoured every sensation as he cupped Jon’s cheek and felt the stubble scrape his palm.  _ This _ was what had been missing in the Lonely – the feeling of touch, of direct contact with another person without feeling as though there was a layer of  _ something _ between him and anyone or anything around him. But here, in this tiny flat, he was present in this very moment, present for the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips moving against his, a reminder that right now he wasn’t alone. No matter the colour of his hair or the nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat after a dream where he’d been drowning in fog, his lungs full of cold, wet smoke and his eyes unseeing, Jon would be there.

Jon hummed against his lips, and Martin pulled away. “What?”

His boyfriend has a small smile on his face. “I just realized something,” he said. “You’re a real-life rose-coloured boy.”

Martin barked a laugh. “Really? That’s your great realization?”

Jon's smile turned into a pout, one which Martin found infuriatingly endearing. “I thought it was cute.”

Martin chuckled, brushing his lips over Jon’s again and pulling away before he could press closer. Jon let out a petulant growl, and Martin grinned. “You’re cute.”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are, don’t deny it.”

“If I agree, can I kiss you again?” Martin nodded. “Fine, then I’m adorable.”

Still grinning, Martin brought his lips to Jon’s again, and they stayed on that couch for a good long while.

After this, they’d go about their regular days. Martin still didn’t know whether he’d be able to bear his own reflection, now that his hair was no longer the stark white it had turned after the Lonely. He knew that this wouldn’t keep the nightmares at bay, the terrifying dreams of losing Jon to a fog so thick he could hardly move through it, of losing himself piece by piece as everyone walked by, of being forgotten and discarded as though he’d never mattered. He knew this wouldn’t solve anything long term.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the first step.

That night, Martin looked up from the sink and beheld the pink curls on top of his head for the first time. He held his reflection’s stare, as if challenging it to go after him. The memories weren’t gone, but the telltale twist of a corkscrew of panic driving its way into his chest was, for once, absent. He simply felt… normal.

What normal was, Martin could only hope it wouldn’t remain that way forever. Jon was right – he’d never forget, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t heal, piece by piece, bit by bit, never alone again.

Perhaps that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> My friends and I were sending art of pink-haired Martin and thus this fic was born. Shoutouts to Shay and Rin for inspiring this when I definitely have another fic I should be writing  
> This is gonna be a series for when I need to forget the TMA cannon and yes there will be full eboy Martin in future fics in this series so stay tuned :)


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